


tripping eyes and flooded lungs

by aphwhales



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Established Relationship, Ghost!Dirk, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, Supernatural Elements, Witch!Jake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphwhales/pseuds/aphwhales
Summary: Dirk, the ghost living in Jake's house, is slowly growing more and more... well, ghostly. Jake goes on a wild goose chase to help him stay.





	1. Prologue: Dirk and Jake

**Author's Note:**

> aka, i've been rereading the raven cycle and dirk is basically noah in here  
> [hmu on tumblr](flotsems.tumblr.com)

_Dirk, Dirk, wake up, please…_

You jolt. You don’t sleep, but you do tend to zone out, and that definitely _wasn’t_ Jake’s voice. Too high pitched and feminine, compared to Jake’s low tenor that hums in his chest when you have the energy to be corporeal enough to lie with him. Right now, you certainly don’t. 

The ceiling is right above your head, and you recognize in a sort of detached way that you’re barely corporeal - you can see Jake’s worried face through your bare feet, and when you glance up, your hair is disappearing into the ceiling.

“Did - did you say something?” You ask him weakly. Jake blinks at you, concern written on his features. 

“No, I didn't. In fact, you only just appeared.” You must look quizzical, because he adds, “You really just sort of, hm, popped out! Gave me quite the scare!” 

“Sorry,” you tell him sheepishly, drifting down to float next to him. “What’cha working on?” 

“Oh, just tidying. Spilt the rosemary this morning because I couldn’t find my glasses.” 

“You always leave them in the same place.” He scowls when you laugh at him. 

“Forgive me for being blind as a cave creature without my glasses, Dirk!” 

Jake finishes sweeping up the rosemary and scoops it back into its jar. He touches his hand to the sigil above his workstation quickly, and strides to the kitchen. You spare the sigil a glance - white on yellowing paper, in the shape of wings. Jake’s grandmother drew it, and what it means, you don’t know. 

You have a feeling that if you were a witch when you were alive, you didn’t use sigils. You can’t even tell what the obvious ones mean. Jake isn’t a fan of them - he usually opts to use plants or crystals - but he’s decent at reading them. You, on the other hand, could see a protection sigil a million times and still have no clue what it means. 

“Dirk, are you coming?” A pause, then, nervous and hesitant. “Wait, are you still here?”

“Yes,” you reply, gliding through the threshold into the kitchen. You curl up on top of the fixture sticking out over the stove. Jake has eggs and bacon going. “I don’t know how long. I don’t feel so great.”

“That’s… kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Jake speaks slowly, like he’s trying not to startle you. “It’s not really polite breakfast conversation, but… we need to do something about…” He gestures up at you. 

“I don’t want to be laid to rest.” You growl at him.

“Oh, heavens, Dirk - absolutely not, not unless you want to. No, I meant finding another witch who’s better with spirits -”

You cut him off, swoop down and press up to his face. If you had enough physical essence, your noses would touch, but because you’re pretty incorporeal today and fading fast, they overlap slightly. Jake is cross-eyed. “I’m not going to fucking leave you either, Jake.” 

Jake sighs. You slip back, resting a few inches above the stove. You might be here longer than you thought, actually - you can feel the heat on your bottom. 

Jake opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again. “Dirk,” he says quietly. “That isn’t what I meant.” 

“What _do_ you mean?” You snap, meaner than you intended. “If you don’t want me here -”

“Dirk,” he interrupts. His eyes are sad, concerned - you have to look away. “I want you here, more than anything in the world. But we need to be pragmatic. Figure out where you are with relation to the mortal plane.” 

“So… you want to see if there’s a witch who can revive me?” Wow, do you feel like an asshole. He just wants to help. 

“Or make you corporeal enough to stay, if that’s what you’d like. It’s completely up to you.” 

You nod. You can feel yourself fading, and your voice is only an echo when you tell him, “I need to think about it.” 

~

You finish your breakfast in silence once Dirk disappears, the only noise the humming of the toaster you haven’t bothered to replace. You don’t bother rinsing your plates before throwing them in the dishwasher, and you can almost hear your grandmother reprimanding you. But you have more important things to worry about. 

The bedroom is quiet, though there is a plant swinging from its hook on the ceiling. You still it with a hand and whistle, trying to feel out Dirk. It isn’t him though - just another spirit that hasn’t bothered to pay rent. Ha, like you ever would make Dirk pay to live here. 

You drag out a rucksack from under your bed, and shake it out the window to rid it of dust and spiderwebs, accumulated from years beneath your bed frame. It’s dark blue, and sturdy, with no holes or tears in it, thankfully. You set it on the nightstand, beside your pistols. Just in case Dirk decides - 

“I want to go.” You jump. Dirk is right behind you. 

“Jesus fucking christmas, Dirk!” You definitely do _not_ shriek like a toddler. “Warn a fellow!”  
Dirk stares at you, orange eyes wide. “I want to find another witch.” 

“Alright, alright!” You throw your hands up in surrender. “We’ll go. I’ve got to find someone first so we have a goal.” Dirk nods and curls up on your bed. Parts of him are fading through the comforter, but for the most part he remains real-looking. Whether or not he’s corporeal is another matter entirely, but also not your concern right now. 

You pull your grimoire from the shelf, and flip through it, before deciding, “We’ll see my cousin Jane first, how’s that sound? She’s a very skilled healer.” 

Dirk is silent a moment, and you almost think he’s gone. But he looks more and more alive when you glance up from your grimoire, pensive and jittery. Finally, he mumbles, “I don’t. I don’t know if a healer can undo,” he gestures to his entire form, still curled on your bedspread. “This.”

“Janey’s a miracle worker,” you tell him, leaning down to look him in the eyes. “She’ll at least have an idea, if not a way to help you stay corporeal.” 

Dirk nods, and reaches his hand out to yours. It’s cold, and slightly faded, but more tangible than it has been in days. You squeeze his hand and grin.


	2. 1: Jane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys look to Jake's cousin for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got an outline planned but no chapters written. hopefully the next chapter wont take as long but i'm also working on a polyswap fill AND i got two series in progress. 
> 
> anyway, enjoy!

Jake’s cousin lives two counties over, in a less rural town than you and Jake do. Jane’s house is in a suburb. Probably in a good school district. That’s what parents worry about in the suburbs, from what you’ve heard. You have an odd feeling that you lived in an urban area. You know you lived somewhere warmer than Washington State, that’s for sure.

Jane runs her business right out of her house. She and her dad sell cakes for weddings and birthdays and parties of every kind, Jake informs you. But Jane, having inherited magic from her grandmother that her father did not, also helps other witches. Mostly, Jake tells you, she removes jinxes and hexes, but apparently she’s a skilled healer and potion brewer. You take his word for it. 

You float silently behind him as he walks down the empty street, glancing left and right at the near identical houses to make sure he doesn’t miss hers. Finally, he tells you, “Okay, right here, on the right.” 

Jake bounds up the walk excitedly. You follow more slowly and land on the ground behind him - you don’t really want to frighten Jane with your ghostliness. Floating above the ground tends to frighten even witches. 

To be fair, though, Jake isn’t even sure she’s going to be able to see you. Most people can’t, and you and Jake still aren’t sure why he can. 

While you ponder this, Jake knocks on the door. The house is a pretty two-story, white with dark blue, almost black, shutters. A boy, slightly younger than Jake, but otherwise near identical, opens the door. He grins with buck teeth when he sees who it is. 

“Jake!” He exclaims. “We weren’t really expecting you. Or your friend, for that matter…” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jake says sheepishly. “But we need Jane’s help. This is Dirk, by the way.” Turning to you, he says, “Dirk, this is my cousin John, Jane’s younger brother.” 

“Nice to meet you!” John reaches out to shake your hand. It fades through.

“John, what are you doing?” A girl, older than John but maybe younger than Jake, hops down the stairs. “Who are you talking to?” 

“Jake and his friend Dirk. They need your help, or something.” 

Jane stares quizzically at the doorway - most likely at the empty space she sees in place of you. “Only Jake is here…” She mumbles. She strides over to Jake and says, louder, “What’s John talking about?”

Jake gestures towards you. “My friend Dirk.” 

“Do you need a psychiatric evaluation? Because I know a girl.” 

“No, no, you just can’t see him.” Jane raises an eyebrow. “He’s a ghost,” Jake finally confesses, defeated. 

“Oh,” is Jane’s deflated reply. “Well, um. I’m not very practiced in raising the dead, but we can see if I can help. Come on in.” 

As she leads you and Jake up the stairs, she interrogates Jake. Who are you, where are you from, why are you haunting _Jake_ specifically… Jake doesn’t know the answers, aside from your first name. But that’s all you know too, except for some very vague memories, and you tell him so when he glances at you for answers. 

Jane’s room is painted a light blue, and you can smell something like thyme or lavender emanating from the incense dish on the altar beneath her window. Jake plops himself down on the bed, and you follow, curling up just above the foot of her bed. You aren’t corporeal enough to actually sit, and it’s not like Jane can see you anyway. 

While you settle down, Jane grabs her grimoire from the top of her bookshelf. Mostly, the shelves are filled with cookbooks and detective novels, but you spot a few books on witchcraft - mainly on hexes and potions - and romance novels. 

Grimoires reflect a person, usually, and Jane’s is no exception. It’s neater than Jake’s, bright blue, contained in a recipe book, and sealed with a rubber band to keep things from falling out. Jake’s, on the other hand, is an old moleskine notebook held together with green yarn and filled to bursting with mismatched cutouts. 

If you had a grimoire, you’re not sure what it would look like. Empty, maybe. There isn’t much left of you. 

Jane’s loud sigh of frustration interrupts your reverie, and you look up. She’s moved to sitting on her desk, her keyboard pushed haphazardly next to her computer. “I’m a healer,” she’s telling Jake. “Not a necromancer. And I know this isn’t normal necromancy but I just have no idea what to do!” 

Jake shoots you a look, and you just hunker down in a ball. After a few moments silence, he says, “Do you know anyone?” 

“There’s a girl across town, her name is Rose Lalonde. She’s friends with John.” Jane pushes her curly bangs out of her eyes and jumps off the desk. “She’s good with dark magic, but she might be able to help Dirk. And anyway, she knows more people who might be able to help you.”

_Lalonde_. Why does that sound familiar? You press your knuckles in your eyes and try to remember. Bleached blond hair and dark roots, a goofy smile. It comes in flashes, and none are detailed enough to say why you remember.   
You realize Jake has been waiting for your answer to something, staring at you with those bright green eyes, and you eventually respond, “Sure, let’s go see this Lalonde girl.”


	3. 2: Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note: psychometry is "the supposed ability to discover facts about an event or person by touching inanimate objects associated with them."

You check into a shitty motel for the night. The bed has room for two, but Dirk fades by the time you get out of the shower. There’s a note on the nightstand written in orange pen, signed in a scrawl.  
Goodnight, but the end of the word is slurred as though he was being forcefully pulled away. 

You don’t know where Dirk goes when he isn’t at least vaguely corporeal, and you aren’t sure you want to know. He always talks about it like it’s terrible. It might just be that he likes being around you, though. Sometimes you catch him staring, and one would think you’d hung the moon for him, the devotion in his eyes. 

When you wake up in the morning, you’re absolutely freezing. Which means Dirk is around. Or trying to become corporeal enough to be seen, at least. He needs to pull energy from something, and usually, that something is you. But it’s normally not this taxing. 

Finally, Dirk lurches into existence from whatever plane he’d been on, huffing as though he’s been running a marathon. He doesn’t need to breathe, though, and he usually only does it out of habit. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, terrified. When you reach for his arms, you’re delighted that he’s solid enough to hold. You sit him on the bed as he catches the breath he doesn’t need. 

He finishes his panting, and looks at you, scared. His eyes are wide, and his wrists are shaking in your hands. After a few moments, he wraps his hands around your forearms, and mumbles, “I thought I wasn’t gonna be able to get back.” 

“...Oh,” you reply dumbly. No wonder he’s so pale, freckles in stark relief under his wide eyes. You had figured he just didn’t have enough energy. “What… what happened?”

“I don’t know,” he tells you brokenly. You hold him tight, and later, while he rests on the bed, you cleanse the room with smoke, just in case. 

~

The day after that sees Jake driving the two of you further up the state in his shitty truck - you hate being in cars, and this experience is reminding you. Rose Lalonde lives in a rural area similar to you and Jake, but with much less people around. 

The worst part is, you still can’t figure out why her name sounds so familiar. Someone Jake told you about, maybe? An actress or character in a movie with the same first or last name? A comic book character?

The question of it being someone from before you died lingers, but you try not to acknowledge it. You don’t like thinking your life. You don’t much like thinking about your death, either, for that matter, or your afterlife, but it can’t be helped. 

Jake hums off tune along with the radio as he winds through the empty roads. You stare out the window grumpily, and this means you see the witch’s house first. Rose Lalonde lives in what could only be classified as a mansion, you think, or at least a very big house. 

There’s a woman standing outside, with dark skin only a bit lighter than Jake’s, and a green hijab wrapped around her hair. She hardly glances up from her gardening when Jake’s truck pulls noisily into the driveway - actually, driveway might be putting it too nicely. It’s more like a patch of dirt with stones lining the sides, and purple and pink flowers lining that. 

When you and Jake move to climb the stairs to the porch, she bares sharp fangs at you. Jake holds his hands up in a non-threatening way, but you know he’s carrying at least one gun on his person. 

“What do you want?” The woman asks, voice crisp. “I will not hesitate to drain you if you mean to cause harm to my wife or myself.” 

“Er - my cousin,” Jake stumbles on his words. “She said Rose might be able to help with a problem we’re having.”

The woman raises an eyebrow. She can’t see you, you realize. She’s been staring at Jake the entire time, no comment on you. Finally, she says, “Who’s your cousin?”

“Jane Crocker?” Jake replies sheepishly. You wave a hand in front of the woman’s face to see if she notices. She doesn’t - she stares straight through you, despite obviously seeing Jake having to lean around you slightly to see her. 

Eventually, she puts her watering can down, and waves you inside. The house… reminds you of something, you aren’t quite sure what. A childhood memory? Where you died?

You find another woman in the kitchen, wearing pajamas and a headband in her unbrushed blonde hair. She hardly glances up from her tea, and says, “A ghost problem?” 

The other woman blinks, and finally looks at you - straight at you, and you can tell she isn’t just seeing through you. “Oh my,” she says, quieter. “I didn’t mean to be so rude, I merely didn’t see you - I’m Kanaya.” She holds out a hand for you to shake. 

“Dirk,” you reply, not quite shaking her hand - you aren’t corporeal enough to do it. At the table, but standing now, the blonde woman raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m Rose,” she adds. “So this isn’t just a haunting?” 

You shake your head at the same time Jake says “Nope!” He launches into an explanation of why you’re here. Rose recaps it all, much simpler than Jake had explained it, and finally turns to you. 

Carefully, she asks you, “Do you remember anything prior to your death?” 

“No,” you reply truthfully. “I don’t even remember my death, to be honest.” Running a hand around your neck, you add, “Probably by, like, beheading or some crazy shit like that, considering this, I guess.” “This” being the thick ring of scar tissue that runs around your entire neck. 

Kanaya winces, and Rose nods. “Would you… I’m psychometric,” she says, by way of explanation. “If I touched it, I may be able to tell you how -” 

“I don’t want to know how I died,” you interrupt. “I just want to know if I can keep living, as much as a ghost can.” Quieter, you add in a mumble, “I don’t want to leave Jake alone.” 

Rose nods, and says, “Well, let’s see what I can do.” 

~

Rose’s grimoire is more like yours than Jane’s - tied up with yarn, full to bursting. Dirk looks shakier and shakier the longer she flips through it, and he’s beginning to fade more, too. You go to grip his hand, but he’s barely here anymore. He glances at you when he feels your hand pass through his, though, and his eyes are terrified. 

Rose decides on a page, and grabs a box of purple-dyed salt. She sprinkles it in a circle around her in one of the few and far between spaces in her book room, and then beckons Dirk inside. He floats beside her, much, much paler. 

Her voice rises in an incantation, but Dirk’s interrupts it. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him yell before, or even talk loudly. But him - or, not him, something in him? - is yelling now. 

“YOU CANNOT REMOVE THE CURSE,” it bellows. “SUFFER, BR -”  
Dirk disappears before whatever was speaking can finish. The salt circle explodes out from Rose. She looks just as startled as you. 

“I have a…. theory, I think.” She says finally. “But I’m most likely wrong.” 

“Is there anyone else I can go to?” You ask warily, shaken as you stare at the remains of the salt circle. 

“Mm… There’s a house a few fields over. The witches there work with the corpse road - they’ll know more about spirits than I.” Rose pauses, then adds, “Ask for Aradia, though. Her sister is quite unagreeable.”


	4. 3: The Megidos

You begin the trek up the hill by yourself, but by the time you can’t see your truck anymore, Dirk is beside you, drifting just above you with a bored look on his face. Everytime you think to ask him about what he - or whatever was inside him - said, he floats further above you.

When you finally catch up and open your mouth, he interrupts with “Don’t ask.”

“Why not?” You reply, wheezing only slightly as you knock pebbles off the path. 

“Because I… I don’t know, either. I don’t want to.” 

“Dirk, I think -” 

“We’re here,” he interrupts again, stopping short. You shiver at the cold feeling of passing through him, having not expected him to stop. There are various piles of carved, uncarved, and half carved hunks of wood on the top of the hill, odd cairns of what look like bones, and behind those, a small ranch house with a fearsome looking woman standing on its porch. She narrows her eyes - one blue, one pale - and beckons you with a manicured hand. 

When you make it up to the porch, she just holds the door open, and asks, “The one Rose said was coming?” 

“Er, yes ma’am.” 

“Do not ‘yes ma’am’ me.” With a wry smile, she tells you, “I am not that old.” 

~

This house is filled with bones, and it’s making you uncomfortable. 

The Megidos run a funeral home - apparently, those hunks of wood were coffins in the making. The oldest, Hana, is sarcastic and blunt, but she seems to have taken a liking to Jake after the   
“yes ma’am”ing incident. Damara, Hana’s older daughter, seems to hate both of you - she keeps blowing smoke in your direction and giving Jake the finger when he tries to make conversation. 

You haven’t met Damara’s younger sister yet, but that’s who Rose said to ask for, according to Jake, and Hana says they’ll need her anyway. 

The growing silence, brought by an end to Jake’s attempts at awkward conversation, and Damara and Hana’s blunt answers, is broken by the front door slamming. The girl who runs into the living room has longer, wilder hair than the other two witches, and she’s carrying what looks like a complete sheep skeleton. You and Jake stare. 

She grins at you, and shakes Jake’s hand excitedly. “I’m Aradia! Rose told me you’re having a ghost problem.”   
“Not a problem,” Jake says hesitantly, “so much as a…” 

“I don’t want to leave.” You tell her bluntly. 

Damara stands, putting out her cigarette on her mother’s dress. Hana growls something at her, but she only strides towards you. “You die on the corpse road?”

You must look confused, because she clarifies, “Ley line. Fairy road. Whatever the fuck you call it.” 

“I don’t know.” She seems pretty pissed at your honesty. 

“Fine,” she says, as if you’d affronted her personally. Then, she turns to Jake. “Let me see if I can raise his body.” 

Damara leads you and Jake to the basement, and Aradia follows, leaving her sheep skeleton with her mother. Their basement is dingy, but not as creepy as you’d expect a funeral home basement to be, honestly. There’s a pentagram drawn in the middle of the floor in what is possibly blood. 

Aradia pulls a bucket down from the shelf - it’s full of the blood-like substance. When you and Jake stare at her as she fixes up the smudged pentagram, she smiles. “Flour, water, and food coloring,” she tells you as she slathers it on the cement floor. Damara comes back with a smaller bucket full of salt. 

“Stand on the far end,” she orders you. 

You do so, lightly placing your somewhat solid feet on the tip of the pentagram. Damara goes around you twice, throwing salt around you in a circle, and then moves to stand at the other end. 

When she begins her invocation, and then her spell, you hardly hear it. Blood that you don’t have is rushing through your ears. Someone is screaming your name.

You double over and yell something that is unintelligible to you. Then, something inside you, something you hadn’t been aware of until the incident at Rose’s, shouts using your mouth, “THE CURSE CANNOT BE REMOVED,” you retch between its sentences. “SUFFER THIS, DIRK.”

~

Dirk falls to the ground, more like a piece of paper in the wind than anything. Damara smudges the edges of the pentagram, and then breaks the salt circle around Dirk.

When nothing comes out, she tells you, “Something in him. Someone cursed him.” 

“No shit,” you reply tiredly, reaching for Dirk. His body is solid enough that you can grab his arm and haul him over your shoulder. Aradia holds the basement door open for you, and you set Dirk down on the arm of a particularly ragged green loveseat in the living room. His arm passes through the cushion slightly. 

“Is - is he sleeping?” You ask worriedly, placing a hand near one of Dirk’s and glancing between Hana and her daughters. 

“He is fighting,” replies Hana, taking a drag on her cigarette. “Whatever curse has been placed on him - he is actively fighting it.” 

“Will it -”

“It won’t disappear,” Aradia interrupts you. “Jake, it might be best to just let him rest.” 

“Not unless he wants to,” you tell her, voice breaking. “And, and last I checked,” you rub your thumb in circles around his knuckles, slowly becoming more corporeal. “Last I checked, he wanted to stay.” 

Aradia nods, and opens her mouth, but Dirk, suddenly awake, startles all of you by speaking. 

“I don’t want to go,” he growls at her. “I don’t want to leave Jake.” 

“You idiot,” you respond, “if that’s your only reason -”

“So what if it is?!” Dirk is right against your face, too close for you to focus on. “Maybe it’s not me being worried about you! Maybe it’s me worrying about me!” 

“Dirk,” you start as he curls into himself. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers. “Don’t make me leave, please.” 

~

Jake consoles you with a hand on your (thankfully solid) back as Damara gives him directions to an old pair of friends named Kurloz and Meulin. You don’t hear most of it - either you’re fading, or you’re very, very out of it. 

You’re decidedly out of it, you realize, as you manage to buckle yourself into Jake’s truck.


	5. 4: Meulin and Kurloz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes!  
> 1, i edited my outline, which reduced this from 13 chapters to 12. just removed feferi - i couldn't think of a way to work her in.   
> 2\. this is not going to end happily. bittersweet is what i'm going for, but. A WARNING!

Damara’s old friends live about a town over, and you and Jake end up crashing in the truck for the night. Or rather, Jake crashes in the driver’s seat with the seat pushed as far back as it will go. You sit in the passenger seat, legs squished into the seat, bare feet braced against the console, and watch him. You almost want to leave, to tell him not to bother, because this certainly won’t end well for him. 

Jake told you that Damara said you were cursed. You can believe it, honestly. So either you’re going to kill him or something because of this curse, or he’s going to end up heartbroken when you finally disappear for good. 

You should really just leave.   
But you won’t, because you’re a coward, and as afraid for him as you are, you would much rather stay with him. Nevermind that when you’re finally laid to rest, he might be the only one dealing with the memory of your relationship. (You aren’t sure how the whole afterlife thing works if you’ve actually been laid to rest). 

You’ll stay, though. You reach over and place your hand on his chest next to his hand, just above it so your steadily fading form won’t pass through him and wake him up. 

~

Meulin and Kurloz live in a small town near the coast, and they apparently run a bakery with Kurloz’s younger brother. You have found out all of this in the span of five minutes after walking into their bakery. 

Kurloz and his brother Gamzee are dark with bright eyes, like you, but that’s where the similarities end. Both of them are tall and lanky, with wild hair. Meulin is more like you, also dark, with curly hair and olive eyes. Dirk, pale and ginger with orange eyes, stands out like a sore thumb, even ignoring his status as a ghost.

Kurloz leads you silently upstairs. Their living room smells heavily of pot and incense, and Dirk, floating along behind you, mumbles “Four twenty, blaze it.” 

To your surprise, Meulin laughs. Damara had told you she was deaf. Kurloz raises an eyebrow. Loudly, Meulin tells him, “The ghost made a weed joke!” 

Dirk blinks at you confusedly, and you just shrug your shoulders and turn back to Meulin and Kurloz. “I can hear ghosts!” Meulin tells you and Dirk cheerily. Also very loudly. “I can’t see them, though!” 

Kurloz waves you through a door as Dirk and Meulin make conversation. Or, more accurately, Meulin chatters and Dirk gives her one word answers. This room is quieter - less noise from the street comes in through the window, and there are some dark, stained looking tapestries hanging on the wall that probably aid in muffling sound. Kurloz signs something to Meulin, and she turns to you and tells you, “Dirk should stand in the middle of the circle!” 

“This seems like what Damara tried,” Dirk tells her. He sounds bored, but you can see how nervous he is. Meulin relays his statement back to Kurloz. 

While Kurloz signs back to Meulin, Dirk collapses into a cross-legged position in the center of the circle. Meulin turns back to him and says, “Kurloz has a different technique than Damara!” She doesn’t elaborate, which only serves to make Dirk more anxious. Kurloz begins walking around the room, lighting candles - tea lights, pillars, votives - and wafting the incense towards the circle. 

There’s a sort of dark energy filling the room - you aren’t sure if it’s whatever ritual Kurloz is preparing, or if Dirk’s curse is getting ready to make a reappearance. At any rate, you back towards the wall a bit, keeping a hand on the pistol on your hip. 

Suddenly, every candle Kurloz had lit goes out. 

The darkness in the room would be ambient, probably, if you weren’t with your cursed ghost boyfriend and two witches who you probably shouldn’t be interacting with, especially to try and raise said cursed ghost boyfriend from the dead. 

A single candle flickers back to life, fed by a source unknown to all of you. Or maybe just the three of you that are human. It’s an orange candle, right in front of Dirk. 

His eyes are dark.

Dirk flinches suddenly, and his eyes are bright, bright orange, close to yellow. His face is alight with the flame from the candle in front of you, tinted orange. 

He lunges at you, fingers digging hard into your jugular. His face is pained and his eyes are wide, but it isn’t him doing this, you know that for sure, _you know_. 

You raise your pistol from your side and shoot him in the abdomen.   
You don’t expect it to do much, but he disappears immediately.

The bullet ricochets off another candle that had lit up again. You hadn’t noticed, but now that you’re looking, the orange candle in the center of Kurloz’s circle has gone out again. Meulin is staring wide-eyed at it as well, but Kurloz is glaring in the direction of the hallway. 

His brother Gamzee stands in the doorway, a grin on his face that you can only describe as “sleazy”. “I in’errupt anything, motherfucker?” 

Kurloz makes a sound deep in his throat like a growl, and you don’t hear the end of it, because Meulin pulls you out the door, downstairs to the bakery, and out to the street with little ceremony.  
“You really don’t want to be in there when they fight, trust me,” she tells you, much quieter than earlier as she examines your neck with her stubby fingers. “I think it might just bruise. I’m sorry about your ghost friend.” 

“What happened?” You ask her slowly, so she can read your lips.   
“Gamzee tends to… have that effect on people,” Meulin mumbles, biting her lip. “We probably should’ve made sure he stayed downstairs.” She steps back, and adds, “Good luck helping him.” 

She heads back inside, and you are abruptly alone. You stumble into the driver’s seat of your truck and slam the door. Dirk will follow you to whatever shitty motel you find to stay at tonight, you hope. You don’t think you can handle anymore malarkey from any other witches, or their odd siblings.


	6. Interwitchin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to regroup!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a little late, i'm writing chapters as i go, but i havent been feeling great lately.   
> anyway. woooooaaaaah we're halfway theeeerreee.

This motel is complete crap.   
There’s absolutely no water pressure in the shower, the blankets feel like cardboard (you really don’t want to know what the stains on them are, either), the television is in black and white, and there was a long legged spider in the bathroom that you didn’t notice until you were washing your hands. 

Worst of all, Dirk hasn’t come back yet. You’re starting to worry he won’t be back at all. (Though you’re glad he didn’t see what happened during the spider incident.) Did you permanently destroy him with a plain old bullet? 

You shake your head to clear it of that thought. He might just be struggling to get the energy to appear. For now, you content yourself with flicking through the channels on the crappy television, eventually settling on _I Love Lucy_ reruns. 

You muddle about with divination after they start running _Mister Ed_ reruns in the afternoon. Your cards won’t tell you what’s wrong with Dirk, or they don’t know. You can’t get a conclusive answer to whether or not he’ll return, or if this is a futile attempt to help him. Your pendulum is no help either - actually, you should probably cleanse your pendulum at some point. 

This would be so much easier if he were here, you reason, but then again, if he were here, you wouldn’t be throwing your cards against the wall in frustration. You flip over one last card.

The Devil. Your grandmother would tap her long green fingernails on this card, tell you and your sister, “This is a card that’s saying ‘Get your shit together’, kids. Assess your life. Stop letting your fear control you.” And you and your sister would gasp, and your grandmother would gather the both of you up and tickle you until you cried with laughter....

What fear could be controlling you? You’re afraid of losing Dirk, surely, and afraid of him succumbing to whatever curse has been put on him. 

You’re… afraid of being alone, you suppose. Which, you guess, fits into your fear of losing Dirk. You don’t want to be without him. You don’t want him to be alone, either. You hold up the card - simply black and green, from your grandmother’s favorite deck, with a crude, scribbled mass of black with bones scattered across it. 

Frankly, it terrifies you. And also predisposes you to jump when the temperature drops in the room and Dirk fades in through the wall the television is against. He stares at you blankly for a second, like you’ve grown a second head, and then blinks. “Hey.” 

“Jesus H. Christ, Dirk!” You groan, pushing away from the wall you had scrambled towards. 

“Sorry,” Dirk replies somberly, drifting back to sit on the box television. “The Devil?” You look over the edge of the bed, and sure enough, the card you were holding has fluttered to the floor in front of him, bright green against the stained floral carpeting. 

“I was doing a reading,” you tell him honestly. “I wanted to see how all this would turn out.” 

Dirk frowns, and moves to float downward to sit next to you on the bed. “Not well, Jake.” Quieter, leaning his head on your shoulder, he adds, “You should just leave me be. Get a wife, or a dog, and settle down. I’ll be fine.” 

“I’m not going to just leave you to fade!” You huff indignantly. “I love you.”

Dirk butts your shoulder with his head. “You’re an idiot... I love you, too. But you don’t have to do this, Jake. Really. I… I don’t think it’s going to end well. For either of us.” 

“Did you see something, while you were gone?” You frown. “An omen, or a portent? Even a vague image can -” 

“No, Jake.” Dirk interrupts you. “It just. I know it’s not going to be a happy end.” He sighs, and leans heavier against you, surprisingly solid today. “How do you get a curse off of a ghost? For that matter, how am I not insane and just living out the same minutes everyday, just haunting you?” His voice breaks, “What’s _wrong_ with me…” 

“Nothing,” you say honestly. “Dirk, I want to keep trying. But if you don’t, we can… we can just go home. See what happens.” 

“I want you to be happy. And, and if you want to keep trying, we can keep going.” 

“Are you sure?” Dirk’s eyes flick up to yours. 

“I’m sure.”


	7. 5: Karkat and Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reduced amount of chapters again

You float dismally behind Jake, where he can’t see you, as you follow him up the quiet street. When he turns to grin at you - he keeps telling you, _I have a good feeling about this one, Dirk, I really do!_ \- you smile back sadly. You wish things could be easier. 

This place is a small apartment complex in the town near where Rose lives. According to Jake, you’re supposed to be looking for apartment number 612. When you find it, you flinch - it reminds you of… something, you aren’t sure what. A memory from before you died, probably. Who knows. Not you. 

Jake knocks. He has to, even though you get to the door first, because you’re barely corporeal today. You can see the sidewalk through your shoes. 

A small man answers, scowling and holding what looks like a jar of paprika. The house smells like spices. A ways behind him, a much paler guy is on the couch, wearing shades despite being inside. He looks towards the door and frowns. 

“What do you want?” The man in the doorway growls, holding his paprika jar threateningly. 

“Um. Rose Lalonde told us we might be able to get some help from a Karkat Vantas who lives here?” 

“Rose needs to stop giving out my fucking address!” He shrieks. “Dave, tell your asshole sister to stop giving out my address!”

You glance at Jake, and he shrugs. Then, you throw yourself past Karkat, and towards Dave. Dave flinches, and Karkat narrows his eyes, but says nothing. You don’t think either of them can see you.

Dave reminds you of… well, you. He’s lanky and thin, and extremely pale, with ginger hair and freckles smattered across his face, neck, and what you can see of his shoulders. The biggest difference you can see is the mess of scars on his face - where you have one thick scar on your neck, Dave has thin scars criss crossing over his nose and cheeks. You know, instinctively, you don’t know how, that there are thicker, worse scars on the rest of his body. 

He’s _someone_ to you, that much you can figure out. 

“Tell whatever the fuck is hovering around Dave to fuck off!” Karkat yells, waving at the air with his hands. Dave flinches again, and Karkat turns and growls threateningly at you and Jake. Mostly at Jake, though - you’ve practically confirmed that he can’t actually see you. 

You scoot backwards, as per Karkat’s request, though you’re mostly doing it because of how uncomfortable Dave looks. Karkat’s just loud, not really frightening. 

“So,” Karkat starts after you’ve moved, glaring at Jake and probably continuing an earlier conversation. “Why the fuck would Rose think I could help you with your fucking ghost problem? I’m a goddamn potions specialist, not a fucking necromancer!”

“Maybe she thought you could give the ghost a dope-ass potion to revive him,” Dave suggests with a snort. Karkat rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. 

Jake hunches his shoulders in a gesture you know to be self-conscious. 

“Well, what can we do now?” You ask, shouting - or really, just talking a little louder since shouting isn’t something you do - so Karkat might be able to hear you. When he doesn’t answer, Jake shrugs at you, and then relays your question to Karkat. 

“Fuck if I know.” Karkat replies with a bored wave of his hand. 

~

 

You end up hanging out in the truck for the rest of the day, after Karkat kicks you out. Dirk is brooding about something, mumbling to himself and generally acting odd. Finally, he says to you, out of nowhere, “I think I knew Dave when I was alive.” 

You think about this, and then you think about Rose. Cautiously, you say, “Rose said Karkat was dating her twin brother. Dave really did look similar to you…”

“What does Rose have to do with any of this?” 

“If you knew Dave, you might’ve known Rose, too. I think -” You phone beeps and interrupts you. You open your mouth again, but it continues beeping, in a pattern you’ve never heard before. 

Incoming Message!  
Unknown Number: It’s Rose. I think you and Dirk need to come back here.

You take a deep breath and continue, “Buckle up, we’re heading back to Rose’s.”


	8. 6. Roxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember! rose is psychometric, so she can sense things about something just by touching it  
> also, two epilogue chapters after this, and teafl is done! i hope yall have been enjoying this as much as i have

Kanaya isn’t there when Rose lets you and Jake in. She’s a bit more somber today, and more put-together (though that might be simply because it isn’t early morning as it was last time). She smiles sadly at you. “I know what happened to you.” It’s a statement, with no room for questions. Jake blinks at her wide eyed. 

You know Rose from somewhere. And she knows you, she knows it. She reaches towards your scarred neck. “May I?” 

You nod hesitantly, and cock your head toward Jake impulsively. Rose reaches out with her left hand and touches your scar with two fingers - 

You are barely corporeal. But you feel her fingers as though she’s held a branding iron to your skin. And you scream. Jake covers his ears with his hands and stares at you with frightened eyes, but you hardly see it, because your vision is going blurry. 

_Dirk, Dirk, don’t let him, please - Dirk!_ Bleached blonde hair, bright pink eyes. A dingy apartment that smelled like sweat and takeout. Burn in your muscles from holding a sword too tightly. 

_Roxy!_ Roxy. That’s who the voice is. Roxy, your sister, your twin, your other half, god - 

Rose is crossed legged on the tiled floor in front of you, concerned in her hooded eyes. Jake is beside you, hand hovering over your knee, still translucent - you can see the pale beige of the kitchen tiles through it. “You heard my sister,” Rose says slowly. 

“Roxy,” you sob, unable to articulate anything else. “Roxy, god.” 

Jake hugs you tightly, and Rose licks her lips and sighs. “Dirk, I know what happened to you.” 

“For god’s sakes, what happened to _her_?” You choke in reply. “I don’t care what happened to me - tell me what the _fuck_ happened to Roxy.” 

Rose frowns. “Do you… remember your brother?” 

Which? Because now that you can remember things, you know you had three brothers. Two older and one younger, and the younger is the only one who isn’t fucking dead. 

“The oldest.” Rose replies to your thoughts. Jake mumbles quietly that you were babbling aloud the entire time, and that’s how she knew. 

“B...Bro?” 

Rose nods gravely. “He cursed you. It’s dormant now, I think - the part that would attack when we tried to find out what it was, anyway. It’s been quite active recently. This whole wild goose chase must have tired it out.” 

“Cursed him?” Jake asks.

“Yes. According to Dave - my twin and your younger brother, Dirk, you met him yesterday - at some point when you and Roxy were grown and Dave and I were living with our respective guardians, you and she tried to take him from Bro. Which was, from what I hear, a good thing.”

“What happened?” You whisper hoarsely.

“He killed Roxy. You had him on the brink of death - and he did die, but not before killing and cursing you.” 

“What’s the curse,” Jake says, leaning on his hand, “and how do we break it?” 

“Dirk can’t pass on unless he leaves what he holds dear. I interpret this to mean that he must sit by Roxy’s grave until he passes. He will become tethered to it, and will fade slowly.” 

“So it can’t really be broken.” You say, deadpan though you’re wiping tears from your face. Rose only nods. 

“I’m sorry.” 

~

 

“What do you want to do?” You ask Dirk as you drive home. His knees are pressed to his chest, with his head buried in them in the passenger seat, but he blinks an eye at you when you speak. The address of Roxy’s grave sits heavy in your pocket, but if Dirk doesn’t want to go, you won’t make him. 

“...I’m sorry,” Dirk whispers back, muffled and choked. “But I want to go. I miss her.” 

You nod quietly, sniff and wipe your eyes with a hand. With your other hand, you grab his tightly.


	9. Epilogue: Dirk and Jake

When you drag yourself into whatever plane of existence Jake is on, he’s busy at his work desk. When you hover over his shoulder, you can see he’s drawing a sigil, which is strange in and of itself. Jake hates working with sigils. Stranger still, he’s drawing it in magenta. 

“What’s the pink sigil for, dude?” You ask, leaning heavily against him. Last day. You’re scared. The address to Roxy’s grave is on the desk. Jake spots your gaze on it, and sighs. 

“Dirk, we don’t have to do it today.” 

“I’ll never do it if not today,” You reply resolutely. “I have to, Jake.” 

Jake nods, and finishes the sigil with a flourish of his marker. It’s heart shaped, but split in half - one half is filled in, the other merely an outline. 

You cock your head as he holds it up to show you. “What is it?” 

“It’s for you to hold onto.” 

“For when?” You can’t help but wonder - will you even see Roxy again? 

“Just in case,” Jake replies, folding the sigil up and placing it into your hand. He folds your hand around it gently and holds it for a moment. “...I’m going to miss you. A lot, Dirk.” 

You nod, and bury your head in his shoulder. “I’ll, I’ll miss you too.” 

~

Roxy’s grave is close to Kanaya and Rose’s house, in a small Jewish cemetery away from the road. The grave is only labeled “Roxy Lalonde”, with no dates or other inscriptions, save for a small, messily painted blue vortex-shape. It makes you somewhat sad. It makes Dirk flinch, and he chokes a sob back as you approach it. 

You make sure he has the sigil you made him, and you hold him tightly. One or both of you are crying, you can’t tell who - 

“I’m sorry,” Dirk repeats as he pulls back from you. He’s still holding your hands. “Will… will you leave, after I step in?” 

“Why?” 

“Because it isn’t going to be pleasant.” Dirk lets go quickly and steps back. Immediately, something seems to take hold of him, and he frowns like he’s in pain. “I love you.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut to blink away the tears that are threatening to spill. “I love you, too, Dirk.” 

You turn on your heel and don’t look back, because you can feel that he doesn’t want you to. 

~

He can’t stop you from coming back a week later, though. 

The only thing on Roxy’s grave is a dirty piece of scrap paper with a magenta heart on it. 

~

You move on. Sort of, anyway. 

You leave his sigil on the grave, make a copy of it, and paste it next to the one your grandma made for you. They hang above your work desk, and you feel as though the two most important people in your life are watching over you. 

You think about Dirk a lot. Today, it’s when you’re sorting through your seashell collection on the porch and thinking about when you should pick the oranges from the tree in your yard. You miss him. He liked looking at the seashells, and when he was corporeal enough to eat, oranges were Dirk’s favorite food. 

You glance up at the orange tree. As if on a timer, all the oranges fall off, thumping loud against the ground. You stand and make to go through the screen to the yard, but a scratching noise stops you. 

On the porch, there are a dozen periwinkle shells, arranged into a heart, as if by magic. You smile sadly at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand we're done! this was A Ride, but i hope you all liked it!   
> 


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